


A Firm Hand

by shovel_bunny



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Get Together, M/M, No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shovel_bunny/pseuds/shovel_bunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint thinks that Coulson needs to relax and he's the man to show him how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Firm Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Clint/Coulson fic. Inspired by Clark Gregg's shoulders in those fabulous suits and Jeremy Renner's gorgeous hands.  
> I'm new to AO3 so please let me know if you spot any mistakes in the way I'm posting etc. Constructive criticism is very welcome, I'd like to improve. This is completely unbeta'd so any and all mistakes are entirely my own daft fault.

Coulson closes the door to his office with his unflappable agent face solidly in place but Clint can see even from this angle that the meeting with Fury has left his shoulders hunched a good half inch higher than they were this morning. Not that Clint has spent much time eyeing Coulson’s shoulders. The impressive breadth of them and the way they fill out those suits he wears to perfection. Not at all. And if he has, so what? Everyone needs a hobby. He draws the line at imagining what the suits would feel like under his hands though. Honest he does.

So he notices that Coulson’s wound a little tighter than usual as the agent drops into the chair behind his desk and drags the next forbidding stack of paperwork in front of him. Sometimes, Clint thinks, it might be nice for Coulson if occasionally Darcy wasn’t quite such an efficient assistant and some of those files didn’t make his desk quite so quickly. 

Normally when he steps up behind his handler, appearing as if out of nowhere, Coulson doesn’t so much as flinch. Where lesser mortals, including seasoned SHIELD veterans and on one very memorable occasion Fury himself, have been known to yell and duck for cover, Coulson carries on mildly, unaffected. But this time when Clint steps silently out of the shadows behind him and then leans to brace one arm on the desk next to his, there is definitely a twitch at the corner of Coulson’s eye. A definite twitch and a little jump of his fingers against the files, which normally would count as a victory in Clint’s eyes but on this occasion just makes him want to drag the man bodily out of his office and force him to relax somewhere, anywhere else. 

‘Rough day huh?’ he asks and is rewarded with a snort and the corner of Coulson’s mouth curving in a wry half smile.

‘Just another day at the office, Agent Barton.’ Coulson turns his head towards him a touch, ‘What can I do for you this evening Agent? Surely you have better places to be than lurking in my office?’

‘What I can’t just drop by and see how my favourite handler is doing?’ Clint leans back up from the desk and then rashly takes his life in his hands and settles both hands firmly on Coulson’s shoulders, his thumbs resting at the base of his neck. Coulson instantly tenses up more than ever, which is the complete opposite of what Clint’s hoping before, and opens his mouth to speak. Before he can get a word out Clint presses both of his thumbs into the solid knots in the muscles between Coulson’s shoulder blades and whatever he was going to say comes out as a pained and hurriedly stifled yelp.

‘Jesus Barton. What the hell are you trying to do? Cripple me?’ Coulson’s right hand comes up and back in a futile effort to dislodge Clint’s hands.

Clint laughs softly as he digs his thumbs in again and then smooths them up and round, making Coulson flinch again. 

‘You’re nothing but one big knot of stress, sir. I don’t know how you can function like this but it can’t be doing you any good. Good job I have strong hands or I wouldn’t be able to shift this at all.’ The younger man trails off absently as Coulson lowers his head, stretching his neck forward to give Clint easier access. Dry mouthed at the increased access and casual gesture of trust, Clint braces his fingertips against Coulson’s shoulders and slides his thumbs along the strong lines of the agent’s neck, smiling as he hears a little hiss escape Coulson’s mouth. As he slides his thumbs lightly back to the base to start the firm pressure again his thumbs catch in the collar of Coulson’s shirt and he lets out a little huff of annoyance. Coulson straightens up with a low growl and begins reaching towards his tie, clearly intending to strip it off and undo the buttons of his collar. As much as Clint definitely approves of the idea of Coulson loosening up a little he’s struck by a much better idea.

He grabs Coulson’s wrist, halting it in its progress and keeping his voice light and hoping his tone accurately reflects his sincerity he says, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way sir, but this would be a hell of a lot easier if I could persuade you to maybe lose the whole suit. And you know, lie down as well.’

Coulson snorts in response, ‘Agent Barton, are you trying to talk me into bed?’ 

From behind him like this, Clint can’t see Coulson’s face but he doesn’t like the sound of the wry self-mockery in his handler’s tone.

‘If I thought it would be that easy, I’d have tried a lot sooner. But seriously I’m actually not bad at this, one thing I do have is strong hands.’ Clint lets go of Coulson’s wrist and holds his breath hopefully as its lowered back to the desk. 

For a moment Coulson is completely still but then his hands move back to the stack of papers and Clint feels his heart which had been lodged in his throat sink down to the soles of his boots in disappointment. Damn it all. He lets his eyes slide briefly closed and tries not to sigh too obviously, he needs to paste a cheerful expression back on his face and get out of here with some dignity intact.

The sound of the papers being shoved back across the desk snap his eyes back open and he stares down in shock as Coulson turns in his seat, one hand coming up to rub at his shoulder as he raises an eyebrow at the surprised archer. ‘Where exactly did you have in mind for this impromptu massage session then Barton? Because I don’t think the couch in here is going to help me relax.’

Clint chuckles, he’s flopped onto that couch more than a few times when he’s been trying to needle a reaction from Coulson and he knows that its distinctly uncomfortable. Hell, Coulson probably keeps it that way deliberately just to try and deter people from lingering. It probably works on most people too but Clint’s not that easy to shift when he’s in a stubborn mood. Which is after all, pretty much all the time.

‘How about we take this back to the mansion and those unfeasibly large beds Stark provided for us all?’ He’s expecting Coulson to argue, something along the lines of it being unprofessional or something but instead to his surprise Coulson starts shutting down his terminal and locking drawers before standing up and then gesturing towards the door. ‘After you, Barton.’

Clint is surprised but not about to knock this amenable version of Coulson back. God, he must be really exhausted if he’s putting up so little fight. Outside the door to the office Clint steps aside and then follows Coulson through HQ and out to his car, climbing into the passenger seat and reaching across to fiddle with the stereo controls. Coulson slaps his hand away without even looking.

‘You know the rules, Barton. When you’re driving...’

Clint lets the grin he’s been fighting spread across his face and tries to remember not to let his leg vibrate up and down in the way that always irritates the hell out of Coulson. For once in his life he’s trying to relax the man rather than wind him up. Trying to soothe him rather than provoke him. 

The short drive across town is spent in comfortable silence as Clint tries to remember if he has any oil other than gun oil in his room and Coulson, well who knows what’s going through Coulson’s mind? He still has his game face on and he’s giving nothing away. Nothing new there then.

When they reach the mansion Clint doesn’t mess about, determined to get Coulson into his room before the SHIELD agent has time to change his mind. He directs Coulson with a hand against his back, steering him into his room, with only the slightest of leers because he feels its expected. Coulson raises both eyebrows, ‘Your room, Barton? Don’t you think I’d be more comfortable in my own room?’

‘Because your room’s so different to mine?’ Clint knows it isn’t, they’re both to used to moving around, never staying in one place for any extended length of time and never gathering the kind of sentimental objects that make a house a home. He shrugs, ‘The bed’s nice and firm and the linen’s were clean on this morning.’ He spreads his hands wide, ‘Make yourself at home, sir.’ 

Coulson gives him a small smile as he starts stripping out of his suit. Clint watches dry mouthed and silent as what he’s always privately thought of as Coulson’s own version of armour is methodically and efficiently stripped away and then left in an untidy heap on the floor. And maybe that’s the thing that surprises him most, this proof that the senior agent isn’t a robot. Clint knows that, of course he does, he’d never have started any of this if he hadn’t, but this, these casually discarded clothes feel like another little victory won.

Coulson snorts a little muffled laugh, as if he knows exactly what’s going through Clint’s mind, as he strips the upper sheets from the bed and lays himself down on his front, hands pillowed beneath his head, wriggling his hips a little to get comfortable.

Clint takes a moment just to breathe and get his racing pulse back under control again. Phil Coulson stretched out on Clint Barton’s bed, naked apart from a pair of tight black shorts, is somehow at the same time the most extraordinary and yet ordinary sight he has ever seen. He thinks that perhaps this is what tempts him so greatly about Coulson, that the man despite his extraordinary job and extraordinary abilities is in the end an ordinary man. Clint knows that his own shitty past has probably left him entirely unqualified to make judgements about other people, knows his abilities to trust and love have been warped and twisted and that perhaps that’s why he wants this so much. Coulson’s not a superhero or a criminal, he’s just a man, a brilliant man and Clint does want him, very badly.

A slight tensing of Coulson’s shoulders makes Clint realise he’s been standing silently by the door for too long. He huffs a little deprecating chuckle at his own idiocy and uses the time it takes him too strip down to his own underwear to memorise every inch of the muscular body currently laid out before him, in case the opportunity never arises again. Coulson isn’t overly gym toned like some of the younger agents, his body is muscled from use instead, broad shoulders with pale skin punctuated by occasional scars, as is to be expected from an active field agent.

Clint pauses by the bedside cabinet to rummage in drawers until with a murmur of triumph he finds the half used bottle of scentless massage oil he knew was still in there somewhere. He kneels on the bed next to Coulson who looks up at him blankly as he pours a little of the oil on his hands and rubs them together to warm the oil before finally reaching to slide them onto the infinitely inviting expanse of skin in front of him.

God, Clint bites his lip to keep all the things he wants to say from spilling out, about how gorgeous Coulson is, as he slides his hands in light broad strokes over the whole of his back to start with, spreading the oil out before he starts in earnest on trying to work out the knots and kinks in the muscles.

‘I was right Coulson, its a miracle you can move around with muscles this tight. How have you not done yourself an injury?’ He flushes with embarrassment as he hears his voice, lower than usual and with a husk that isn’t normally there in their day to day interactions. If the older agent notices though, he doesn’t seem unduly upset by it, his response is a bit muffled but relaxed. ‘Hadn’t really noticed... Perhaps you could call me Phil while I’m lying in your bed and you’re running your hands over my nearly naked body?’

Clint nearly swallows his tongue in surprise but he smirks down at Coulson. Phil. ‘Whatever you say, sir’ and is delighted when he feels Phil’s body vibrate with laughter. 

He leans his full weight over and digs his thumbs into a particularly stubborn knot just below Phil’s left shoulder blade and winces as the agent yelps. ‘Sorry, sorry. You know if you just had this done more often it wouldn’t get this bad. Good job I do have strong hands or I’d never shift this.’ The knot dissipates gradually and Phil lets out a soft groan of relief that does absolutely nothing for Clint’s tenuously held restraint. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek and tries to will away the arousal thrumming through his body. God, if Phil opens his eyes anytime soon he’s not going to be able to miss the effect this is having on Clint. But Phil doesn’t open his eyes, just lies there and lets Clint run his hands over his body. And its as though his vocal chords are loosening along with his muscles because more and more of those delicious soft little groans and moans are slipping out. Clint shifts a little trying to ease the ache of his erection against his shorts and slides his hands from Coulson’s lower back down to the back of his thighs, starting to work on the large muscles there. He pretends to himself that he is not cataloguing all the sensitive spots that elicit a twitch or a hitch in breath. 

By the time he’s reached Phil’s feet and is working his way back up his legs he thinks that they’ve probably both given up any pretence of this being a purely professional massage. At least he hopes they have. He skims his hands lightly over Phil’s ass as he says, ‘Can we get rid of these? They’re gonna get oil all over them otherwise.’ Phil doesn’t bother to respond, just lifts his hips and shifts his arms out from under his head to help Clint slide the shorts down his legs and toss them to join the rest of his clothes on the floor. 

Clint is quite pleased with his self control when he restrains himself from reaching for that gorgeous ass immediately and instead chooses to work on the muscles in Phil’s arms, enjoying the way that now he can see them, Phil’s hands clench and twitch against the sheets as Clint works. When he does turn his attention to Phil’s ass he gets his first real indication that Phil is as physically affected by this as Clint is. As Clint’s hands knead the muscles, Phil’s hips are definitely moving subtly against the bed. Clint bites back a smile as he straightens up and taps Phil’s hip gently.

‘Ok, you can turn over now.’ 

He wasn’t really expecting any hesitation but he’s still pleased by Phil’s unselfconsciousness as he flips himself over and lets Clint see just how much this is affecting him. He’s got a thoroughly pleased smile on his face as he raises his head to look down his body towards his full thick cock, where Clint’s eyes are focussed.

When Clint can remember to breathe again, he drags his eyes back up to Phils’ face and says, ‘Nice,’ which is so much of an understatement that even he’s surprised by his banality. Phil laughs and stretches his arms up to fold them under his head. He cocks his head to the side and looks down at Clint’s lap, ‘You’d be more comfortable yourself without those.’ Clint strips out of his underwear swiftly and sighs with relief as he lets his hand stroke over himself a couple of times. This gets a strangled noise from Phil who’s watching with intense interest from narrowed eyes.

Clint forces himself to calm down and reaches for the oil again. Phil seems surprised that Clint is going to continue with the massage but he should know better than that. Clint always sees a mission through to the end. With a smirk he lets his hands spread the oil over Phil’s chest and down his stomach, enjoying the feel of hair under his hands and the way the thick slabs of muscle in Phil’s stomach clench as he does so. He starts by Phil’s collarbones and works his way down, it’s so much better now that he can see the flush spreading over pale skin and see Phil’s lips compress as he tries not to let those soft moans tumble out.

Now that he’s certain they’re both on the same page, Clint doesn’t feel any need to stop himself from talking, so he doesn’t.

‘God, Phil! You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this. Wanting to see you. Touch you.’ He groans himself as he sees the effect his words have on Phil, who closes his eyes and presses his head back into the pillows. His hands clutch at the sheets below him and Clint wonders if he’s trying to stop himself from reaching for his own cock or reaching out for Clint. He trails his hands lightly over peaked nipples and is rewarded with a cry and Phil’s back arching into the touch.

‘Sensitive, huh?’ Clint notes that for later and resists the temptation to lean down and lave them with his tongue. His own leaking cock prompts him to hurry this along a little faster than he’d anticipated, but he still bypasses Phil’s cock, laughing at the death glare he gets for this and running his hands down the man’s muscular thighs instead. He keeps up a running commentary on how much he appreciates Phil’s body, as he slides his hand between his ankles, encouraging him to spread his legs just a touch as he runs his hands back up the inside of his thighs.

The archer rearranges himself on the bed so that he’s lying alongside Coulson and slides his left leg over the older man’s right hip as he props himself up on his right elbow. Resting his head on his hand he looks down at Phil flushed and breathing heavily and looking so much better than even Clint could have expected. Clint looks down the length of Phil’s body and holds his breath as he finally reaches for Phil’s cock. It jumps in his hand as he closes his fingers around it and the heady sensation drags matching groans from both men.

‘Ah, god Clint...’ Phil’s eyes are open wide, fixed on Clint’s face as he begins to stroke firmly up and down the solid length, smiling as Phil’s hips begin to move with him. ‘Not gonna last long... Ah’, his eyes screw shut as he fights to maintain control of himself in Clint’s grasp. Clint slides his thumb over the tip of Phil’s cock helping to spread the precome and oil, easing the way. He can’t tear his eyes away from Phil’s face and barely registers his own hips moving in rhythm against Phil’s flank. Given the extended foreplay this massage has turned into Clint’s amazed they’ve both lasted as long as they have but he speeds his hand’s movement over Phil’s cock, adding a little twist to the stroke which makes him arch off the bed. Phil thrusts up into Clint’s fist as he comes with a wordless cry and then collapses back into the bed, sagging as Clint slows the movements of his hand, sure to wring every last ounce of pleasure from the other man.

‘Please, please...’

Clint’s puzzled by Phil’s almost desperate pleas until his hand reaches up to the back of Clint’s neck and tugs his head down to Phil for a kiss that shouldn’t be able to be so sweet and so filthy at the same time. Its the drugging kisses that send Clint over the edge, the knowledge that this isn’t just a way to relieve tension. If it were Clint doesn’t think that Phil would be clutching him so tightly, devouring his mouth so thoroughly. Phil’s hands clutch Clint tightly against him, one reaching down to grasp his ass and encourage him to thrust against his body as Phil sucks lightly on Clint’s tongue until every muscle in his body tenses and he has to pull away from the kiss to shout his pleasure into Phil’s neck. 

He stays there, shuddering through the little aftershocks that Phil’s hands trailing over his back and ass pull from him before he raises his head to dive headlong back into those intoxicating kisses. 

Clint pulls back to press a final kiss to Phil’s mouth, before climbing off the bed to go in search of a washcloth to clean them up. He pauses in the bathroom door on his way back to admire the wreck of his bed and Agent Phil Coulson sprawled in the middle of it. Its quite a sight and he hopes to god he’ll get to see it again.

He hands Phil the damp cloth before climbing back into the bed and flopping down next to the other man. He reaches down to drag the covers back onto the bed over both of them.

‘For a guy with such agility in the field you’re sure a clutz off it,’ Phil grouses as the bed bounces with Clint’s actions. He drops the cloth over the side of the bed and to Clint’s immense relief reaches out to tug Clint closer against his side.

‘Yep,’ Clint agrees. ‘Better get used to it if you’re staying, I’m a restless sleeper too.’

Phil raises his eyebrows but whatever he was going to say gets cut off by an enormous yawn. He laughs ruefully, ‘I doubt you’ll be able to keep me awake tonight,’ his face takes on a sly look as he stretches languorously, ‘For some reason I feel incredibly relaxed and exhausted.’

Grinning Clint presses a kiss to Phil’s shoulder, ‘Glad to be of assistance, sir. Anytime you need a hand relaxing...’ his hand trails down Phil’s stomach towards his groin. Phil catches hold of it and stops it before bringing the hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to Clint’s knuckles. ‘Go to sleep, agent. You’ll be needing all your energy tomorrow I can promise you that.’ Clint hides his grin against Phil’s shoulder as the older man gropes his ass and murmurs, ‘Yes sir. Now that’s an order I can really get behind.’ But Phil’s breathing has already evened out, his face relaxed into sleep. 

Clint smiles and closes his eyes. Perhaps he should send Fury a memo thanking him for whatever he said in that last meeting which made Phil so tense and finally gave Clint a way to get his hands on the Avengers’ handler.

**Fin**


End file.
